Moment
by animegus farmus
Summary: Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave...
1. Fear Me

_Disclaimer: I left my ownership in an oubliette and now I can't remember where it is._

_Author's Note: Just so you know, this is not me setting up shop in this fandom, this is me buzzing past in an airplane, tossing ficlets out the window as I zoom past. And if you believe that, well, that just proves you don't know me – can I just mention that I find you Labyrinth reviewers positively adorable? It is so refreshing to be believed when I say I'm not going to be writing any more of something, you didn't even make demands, which is something of a new experience these days. Of course, those of you that do know me (and what a quite an alarming number that was) wasted no time in adapting Chinese curses (May you develop a Labyrinth muse) or just blithely assumed that it was inevitable anyhow. Quality Control is so not impressed with this development. I just had a nostalgic whim, dammit! Hello Labyrinth fandom, my name is animegus farmus, I fear my whims, they love to torture me, alas that I must do as they say, for I am their slave. But at the first sign of an OC, I'm getting the hell out of here, brain-brain is FULL. And on that note, to those of you who know me, yeah, I know, I'm working on it. Stupid narrator._

* * *

><p>...<p>

It only takes a moment, she learns, to change the world completely. Her world at any rate. Nothing but a moment in which things unseen, things unnoticed or ignored, apparently meaningless or unrecognized in passing, collide suddenly, unexpectedly, culminating in an event, the consequences of which, however subtle, however unrealized, can't do else but make the old world fall in the wake of the new.

So simple really, because, try though she might, her impulsivity couldn't be cured overnight, or even over a year of nights. She's still very young after all, and there's only so much one can do against one's own nature. Still a little rash, and far too brave for her own good, she suffers from the common ailment of perceived teenage immortality, reinforced as it was by her defeat of a powerful adversary on his own grounds. And really, cutting through the alleys of the old town should have been safe, however dark it was – she'd done it a hundred times before, would have doubtless done it a hundred times more – the thought there could be anything worse than a stray dog lurking in the shadows hadn't even crossed her mind. The odds of danger finding her there had to have been at least a thousand to one, probably even more, it shouldn't have happened…

…but then again, what were the odds of a Goblin King showing up to answer a momentary, fleeting wish?

It is perhaps inevitable that she fought back, though possibly she shouldn't have – she's hasn't lost an ounce of that stubborn will or a smidgeon of determination, and so she fights a battle she knows she will lose. She is scared, and because she yet maintains that last wisp of childhood there is a moment where she wishes, if only to herself, that this night's living spectres might meet a bogeyman of their own, the scariest bogeyman she knows…

…and the world turns over, and it's no longer what it was before.

It only took but a moment and suddenly there are no bogeymen in the dark, even though he's standing right there, the scariest one she knows, because that isn't what _she_ wanted. The bogeyman wasn't for her; she wanted a knight in shining armour. And because that's what she wanted, that's what he'll be. As he does everything…

…and because he is what he is, he'll make himself stand, he'll even try to smirk a little, maybe get in a snide word if she'd give him an opening, because, in the end, she can't help but expect it of him. Which is perhaps the most terrifying thing of all…

…for in this moment, as he stands quietly watching her, as he sways and does not fall because she would not want him to, this moment when she realizes he is _waiting_ – for a wish, a command, anything – this instant she discovers the Goblin King can bleed, only a moment...

The moment she learns to fear the power she has over him.


	2. Love Me

_Disclaimer: Ownership of the Labyrinth got wished away to the Goblin King, and the selfish bastard decided to keep it._

_Author's Note: Quality Control is not impressed that she now has to do 'research' in order pass judgement on my musings. It's only been a decade or two since she last watched the movie after all, and until I can convince her to watch it again she's kind of feeling disconnected from the story/characters. Not to mention bringing her around on the idea of the pairing took a little work (she's not a fan of Bowie, neither am I for that matter, though I'm more neutral on the topic, but then, I don't see Bowie, I see Goblin King). As it is, this little piece was actually written two nights back but I had to wait on QC's deciding she was still qualified enough to give it a passing grade – and as those of you that know me are aware, nothing goes up without QC's seal of approval. Of course, it's more than likely she is humouring me on this one, she knows it drives me up the wall having a written fic on hand and not being able to post it. Hope this one lives up to the last one._

* * *

><p>...<p>

Life is a series of learning experiences, she discovers. Some are relatively gentle, a smallish sort of nudge along the path of life, others are harsh, so much so that the learner is lucky to survive – if they even do – to keep treading the road, and some lessons can only be learned with time, coming to each of us in their own way, at a moment of their own choosing.

The barn owl in her arms is the Goblin King; she learns this is something he can do even as she realizes that he's been following her since long before she ever ran his Labyrinth. She could never be sure previously, there had always been so much going on, but this time…she'd probably be a bit more concerned about that if she weren't more worried at the moment about _why_. Is it weakness? Choice? And would he be able to change back?

Her vet – she could think of nothing else to do – learns that the owl is not to be put down, no matter how wounded it is or how merciful that might be. He's known the girl since Merlin was a puppy, has seen her playacting in the park since she was small, and he wonders when she learned to play the part of the guardian angel so frighteningly well. There's no choice for him but to help her or get the hell out of her way.

Irene, meanwhile, learns that some animals, no matter how filthy, _are_ coming in the house, she doesn't care where it's been. Then Robert learns that the owl will not be held by anyone else, the sharp talon that acted as teacher momentarily reopening the debate only long enough for both parents to re-learn the difference between overdramatic teenager and determined young woman – even if they are one and the same person. She'd never intended to let him anywhere near Toby to begin with – the sleeping toddler is best left out of this lesson, he'll have plenty of his own to learn on the morrow regardless – and _she_ can take care of herself.

And Jareth really ought to be learning a meaning of kindness that does not involve being chased down a tunnel by a sharp-bladed machine, but it's hard to tell with an owl. Still, she's learned long since that a little optimism never killed anyone…she hopes…

…and in the moment she stumbles her weary way into her room, having successfully smuggled her enemy safely past friendly lines, only to face, suddenly, the dreadful question of what do you do with a wounded Goblin King – especially one that is watching her so passively when he should be figuring out how to smirk with a beak…

…Sarah learns that caring might be the most difficult lesson of all.


	3. Do As I Say

_Disclaimer: Ownership turned into an owl and flew away, alas._

_Author's Note: Muse notes that some of you seem to think this is going to be a longer and more involved story than I have any intention of writing. I have pointed out that the course of this little work has already been set and it is to resist the temptation to pander to the reviewers at the risk of the story. Brain-brain would like to second that opinion and further add that if muse wants to write an epic, it will have to do so with another idea. I apparently need to slap brain-brain. Now I am going to sit back, keep a wary eye on the nebulous thoughts floating about my cranium, and hope you enjoy my current offering. Sigh._

* * *

><p>...<p>

She's read all the stories. Before she'd read them for painted dreams and wondrous spun lullabies, magic imagery whispered to the mind of a girl longing for adventure. After, in a world where truth wove through the words, giving them power, giving them life, she hears the warnings howling down through forgotten years and scorned belief. They'd known once, in the present of another time, what danger lurked here…

"Stay."

It is not a command, nor yet is it a request; the voice is uninflected, as if it was a word, nothing more, but there is meaning within its echo.

Her hand hesitates a moment on its path to the phone, for there is meaning to her actions as well. She glances to where the wounded Goblin King lay, apparently unable to move, vulnerable for only her to see. And yet strong enough to be able to shift form at will, so that she lives in constant dread of her father walking in to find a strange man draped across his daughter's bed. But there is nowhere else to put him, even when he is an owl, and there is ever the still healing wound on his chest...

She wonders what he thinks of that; she's read all the stories, they are always perfect in them, perfectly beautiful or perfectly ugly, but perfect all the same. What happens when that perfection is marred? He gives no indication of anything, merely watches and waits, smirking on cue, and silently does not ask…

_If you change your mind, give us a call…_

At the other end of line are imperfectly normal friends, waiting for her to join them, wanting to take her out for an average night of dancing and boys, human boys. A night of fun and laughter, and the hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone in the crowd waits for them. The familiar, never ending dance, the steps of which lead on to a life where goblins don't whisk children away on power of an angry wish, where a crystal really is just a crystal, where there is nothing more than reality. The life every human was meant to have.

The stories tried to warn her, she just didn't understand. For in the end it is not the enchantments, it is not the pomegranate or the apple or the peach; it is not a matter of the tricks or the snares, an unwary promise or a foolish wish. The danger is the glimpse, the knowledge of what else. There is nothing stopping her from picking up the phone, no compulsion or geas, he has no power over her after all. He cannot make her obey his not command, his not request, his _wish_…

…except that she chooses to do so.


	4. And I Will Be Your Slave

_Disclaimer: If my lack of ownership should offend…tough._

_Author's Note: Well, we seem to be at a little bit of an impasse here. You guys want me to hang around in the Labyrinth fandom a bit, if not a lot, longer, shameless begging has already ensued (honest, though, it was even labelled 'shameless begging'), and muse appears not entirely unwilling to oblige. Slightly large problem here: Quality Control is threatening to quit if she has to read any more Labyrinth stories – she doesn't like Bowie and I can't get her to dissociate him from Jareth for nothing. And. I. Can't. Lose. Quality. Control. I'm pretty sure I can get her to quality check the rest of this story for me, but after that things might get interesting. Maybe she wouldn't mind that amusing thought…_

* * *

><p>...<p>

She's never late anymore, everyone knows that Sarah Williams appears _exactly_ when she means to arrive, not a second before or after. No schedule is too hectic, no deadline too soon, no day is too short, time is ever at her fingertips, the clock at her command, slave to her need or wish or whim. It's as if every instant is an infinity to be explored, every eternity but a blink of an eye. She's lived in perfect moments until she's learned to savour their passing, found inspiration in boredom, and learned that sometimes it's best just to let the minutes pass.

Her life is a garden of roses – literally. The blooms that spring up in her wake are as impossible to explain as they are to stop; the weather is irrevocably entwined with her emotions, sunlight for smile, raindrop for tear; and there seems to be an army of fluffy puppies just waiting to cheer her up. Everything is as she wants, nothing can be other than she wills, she is being killed with kindness yet nothing is allowed to harm her.

And through it all dances the Goblin King. Appearing at a stray thought, vanishing with a moment's unease, summoned by a breath of fear, banished in a flash of rage, he is ever there so long as she wishes, gone only so long as she does not.

A terrible thing, she now understands, every thought brought to life, every whim answered, every flight of fancy granted whether she wishes it or not. She cannot guard against her mind, has not the power to make it any less human, any less contradictory in its desires, or from _having_ desires. Nor can she keep him from standing there without a hint of fatigue, _because she does not want him to be tired_. But she knows; it only took her a moment to understand…

…because if her expectations exhausted him before…

…she must be killing him now.


	5. You Have No Power Over Me

_Disclaimer: Ownership is hiding under a rock…Ludo mind giving a friend a hand here?_

_Author's Note: So I wish I wasn't too tired to write out what danced about my cranium a couple of nights ago as I wandered my way home from work at one o' clock in the morning, I liked it so much better than what has been willing to come out since. Alas, muse has this nasty habit of snatching back blueprints that she thinks I've ignored too long, and apparently the whole twelve hours between crawling into bed and finishing class was considered 'too long'. This, I'm afraid, will have to do. Sorry for the delay, was trying to placate Quality Control with a Gulch Verse tale (speaking of blueprints ignored too long), it was a nice thought Bookworm Gal, but I am afraid it was unsuccessful. Meanwhile, this is one of those chapters that show why I need QC, 'cause she's the one that gives the go ahead on the chapters I obsess about the most, and probably wouldn't post on my own say so (and those of you who know me know how often she is right – here's hoping she still is). Sigh._

_PS KLCtheBookWorm, I am curious as to your opinion, I feel we must discuss._

* * *

><p>...<p>

This couldn't be allowed to continue, she's old enough to know that. It isn't right and it isn't fair – and _this_ time she has more than enough basis for comparison. The equation was not in balance, the world out of order, the scales tipped precariously, they were not…even.

She holds the power, as inexplicable as that might seem. He can paint mornings of gold, spin valentine evenings, reorder time, rearrange the stars and turn the world upside down…but only if it is her wish, his command, the ball ever in her court. The inequality doesn't seem to bother him, perhaps it is in the nature of…whatever it is he truly is, to buy and sell himself in such bargains, maybe…but too much truth has been lost in fairy tales, and she is but human. And no human has ever gone willingly into bondage. If he must upset the balance, so must she right it in her own way; if power he must give, then power she will return.

Not the kind that can rearrange the universe, though it can change the world. It cannot move the stars or bring the wildest fantasies to life, but small miracles and the mundane turned magic are its province. The sort of power that knows what true dreams are made of, that can accept what is, even if it is not perfect, that cannot stop time…but can make a moment worth forever.

Perhaps not power as he would see it, or even entirely understand; it cannot be contained in a crystal or held in a hand, and it cannot be lightly given or returned. Intangible, invisible, yet clearly seen and felt, it has more shapes than a Goblin King. In one form it challenged his Labyrinth, in another it defeated a King, and the third is the greatest equalizer there is, if she dare, if he can understand, if they are _able…_

…for the scales must be balanced, or cast away entirely.


	6. It's Only Forever

_Disclaimer: Someone put my ownership in the wise man's little box, and he was smart enough not to give it back…or his hat was anyhow._

_Author's Note: So KLCtheBookWorm almost managed to muse explode this story on me, but alas for you, muse actually got stubborn about keeping the story as it was originally sculpted. Good thing, really, as Quality Control would not have been impressed. Speaking of, with this chapter QC does officially resign from her post in the Labyrinth fandom. That's right folks; this is the last chapter (no really). What does that mean for my writing in this fandom? Well that depends…lemonbalm, me dearie, me darling, that offer still good? You know, if I should happen write any more? For those of you who know me, don't worry, QC is still on board for the other fandoms, especially the universe I should been concentrating on at the moment, stories to finish and all that (as if it ever ends). Cheers_

* * *

><p>...<p>

She lives in both worlds and in none. It is the price she must pay for her choice, for the bargain struck, for his perfection marred and her imperfection…suspended. She is not Persephone, she knew the stories, accepts the consequences of ignoring their warnings. The world does not miss her when she is gone, not for a moment…

…a moment in which she seems to lose all track of the situation, the conversation, the events; moments for which Sarah Williams is becoming known, as if she has stepped out of the room and wandered off for years between one eye blink and the next. Moments in which she looks about, dazed, as if revisiting a memory and trying to remember what comes next. Fleeting moments, her part of the bargain, the punishment exacted, accepted for her will…and his.

A burden to bear, as she'd known it must be, so heavy at times, a cost for melding the irreconcilable to a dream. Her price – his is yet to be paid, but it will be someday, for even he can't stop time forever…

…and for her, it's not long at all.


End file.
